


Prisoner

by Donda



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: 'cause that's all this is, Blood, Branding, Dark, Gen, Hurt, Lots of Whump, Sort of attempted suicide?, Tattoos, Whump, but there's a bit of hope at the end, no really it gets bad, seriously I hope you like whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donda/pseuds/Donda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was more or less a man when he was dragged to the Citadel. He is a feral animal by the time he leaves.</p><p>The months after Max is captured and brought to the Citadel.</p><p>Based on the idea behind this post: http://thatonezombiecosplayer.tumblr.com/post/123877414277</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me just trying to get into Max's headspace about his time as a blood bag, and then I just got completely carried away with it.
> 
> Heed the tags if you're squeamish.

With a gun to his head and a foot on his back, Max freezes in his pained crawl through the dirt. He could take this man down. It wouldn't be hard. But there are others. He can hear them crawling like ants over his car. Trying to run now would probably only result in being shot.  
  
_Survive._  
  
When they're done admiring the wreck behind him, more of the boys begin to focus in on Max. They fall upon him, pulling him up from the ground, binding his wrists in front of him despite his desperate thrashing. They leave him chained to the back of one of their vehicles as they flip his Interceptor over and hitch it up. He soon finds himself half staggering, half jogging behind his wounded car as the pale skeleton-men throw rocks at him.  
  
_Stay calm. You'll find a way out of this._ Towers of rock loom in the distance.  
  
A drooling, bearded man questions the War Boys who bring Max in. "Were there any others? Where did you catch him? Vehicle? Supplies?" He jots notes on his own arm with ink. _Powder lakes. Lone Road Warrior. V8. No supplies._  
  
The Organic's examination of Max himself is much more… extensive. They start to strip him down, and Max fights back. Violently, furiously, he throws off the boys that try to hold him still. He manages to strike the man hard across the mouth, splitting his lip, but more of the pale soldiers rush in from seemingly nowhere, swarming him, bringing him to the ground so hard it knocks the wind out of him. ( _Hi Octane_ , the Organic Mechanic notes on his arm as blood drips down from his mouth.) And the examination continues. Max is made to piss in a cup, his blood is taken, his height and weight measured, his scars practically counted, almost every inch of his body examined.  
  
The man questions him, asks his name, but Max only growls, mad with humiliation at this point, staring him down as the others hold him back.  
  
_No Name, Isolate Psychotic_ are added to the Organic Mechanic's arm.  
  
And then they toss him in a small room, throw his clothes in after him (sans jacket, he notes with a huff), and the heavy door is locked. Max is frozen for a minute, then jumps to life, struggling back into his clothes. He approaches the door, listening carefully. It's silent for a long time. Hours. He is sitting back against a wall when he finally hears movement, and he jumps up, prepared to kill. He lands a few good hits on the first several men who rush in, knocking a few of them out completely, but he's overwhelmed again, and they drag him out.  
  
They chain his wrists and pin him to a table, his arms outstretched, a War Boy holding the chain around his shoulders and pulling hard. Max feels them pull the back of his shirt up to his shoulders, and he hears a buzz start up behind him, quickly followed by the sensation of a needle piercing his back in quick succession. He starts to thrash, and he's immediately pinned down harder. One of them hits him hard across the head, leaving him dazed and bleeding down his face.  
  
They cut his beard away, and he tries to bite them. A gag is shoved into his mouth, tied tightly around the back of his head. They cut his hair next, and he just glares at the ground, biding his time. The Organic continues to tattoo his back. Max guesses they're words. He's being labeled, like a thing.  
  
Max smells fire, hears the clank of metal on metal, and soon the sizzle of heated metal being brought out of the flames. It draws closer. _Oh, no_. He draws the line here. He's seen the backs of some of the War Boys' necks. He suspects he knows what's coming next. He kicks hard, bringing down a couple of the War Boys at his feet, then yanks the chain on his wrists, tearing it away from the War Boy holding it. He jumps up, elbowing the Organic Mechanic hard as he tries to stop him, knocking him out. The War Boys he had kicked are starting to get up, and Max lashes one across the face with the chain, then barrels into the second one, knocking him aside. He's running instantly, hearing the remaining War Boys yell behind him.  
  
He runs for his life, for his freedom, stopping only briefly when he's met with the sight of his car. _Can't stop._ He vaults over it, the War Boys close behind him.  
  
As he fights and runs, his path eventually leads him to a sheer drop. There's no time. He spots a hook lowering toward him, and jumps for it in sheer desperation. Even with his instinct to survive, he'll risk death over imprisonment. He swings away and back, kicking at the War Boys, sending one to his death. He swings back on the hook again, War Boys grasping at his legs, and he knows he's lost. They drag him in, unhook his chain, and he finds a suffocating cover stretched over his face. He thrashes desperately and gasps for breath. No air comes, and soon the world goes black.  
  
When he wakes, the cover over his face finally gone, he's pinned again. He can't see, his face is being pressed into the floor, but he can feel a lot of hands on his back and legs, many of the War Boys leaning their full weight against him. He feels crushed. The hiss of metal draws close behind him again, and there's nothing he can do. A hand presses hard on the back of his head, and then a searing pain shoots through him as the brand is pressed to the back of his neck. He howls, thrashes, and jerks, but it's useless. The brand presses harder as if to spite him.  
  
When finally he's released, he has no fight left in him. He's in agony and exhausted. They've done their worst, and he has lost.  
  


* * *

  
  
Max hangs in a narrow cage for days, his knees forced up against his chest, his wrists tied behind his back. The back of his neck aches in throbbing beats, his whole back burns. He's heard the term "blood bag" thrown around down below, but is still not prepared the first time they use him. They drop the bottom of the cage out from under him and he swings by his ankles with a heavy grunt. A War Boy approaches and presses a muzzle around his face, and Max thrashes violently. But the War Boy wins, and the heavy metal thing weighs on his head, locked in place. He closes his eyes, trying to control his breathing. _Panic won't help._ But he's so beyond help right now.  
  
The Organic turns him around and pulls the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders again. He mumbles as he reads his back. "Yeah, this one."  
  
He feels more hands on him, and he twitches away, but they hold him. One grasps the bottom of his muzzle, forcing his head back, and something large and sharp is forced into his neck. He yells, thrashing harder, and the hands leave him suddenly. He watches his blood run down the length of the tube, follows it to the other end, which the Organic sticks into the arm of a War Boy laying back against the rock.  
  
He breathes in gasping breaths as he feels his blood drain away from him. The War Boy below him looks up, reading his fear, shadowed eyes judging him from below a black painted forehead. He laughs breathlessly. "First time, blood bag? You'll get used to it."  
  
And that's exactly what Max fears.  
  


* * *

  
  
Some days they leave him alone. Some days he can just stare up at the light filtering through the ceiling in relative peace. But other days he's chosen. They muzzle him each time, force a needle into him, and he watches his life drain away. They drain him until he's dizzy and sleepy. He doesn't fight them when they shove him back into his cage. He doesn't have the energy.  
  
He watches the white-painted boys die around him, but can't bring himself to care. Sometimes it's the one he's hooked up to. It's usually quiet. They slip away unnoticed, and Max only later realizes his blood has been draining into nothing more than a corpse.  
  
The Mechanic actually makes some effort to keep his back and neck clean and treated. His back stops itching and burning eventually, but it's months before the back of his neck stops hurting. Or so he guesses. He lost track of the days early on, but the pain lasts a long time.  
  
Eventually, sickeningly, he gets used to the routine. Drop. Bleed. Return. Wait. He even starts to become familiar with some of the faces around him, despite the fact that the boys all look more or less the same. He comes to recognize certain ones, at least when his head is clear enough that they're not just indistinct blurs. One man, painted like a War Boy but not a boy like the others, comes in often. He's always healthy, aside from the collection of lumps on his neck. He's never here to receive blood. He checks on the sick boys, talks to them encouragingly, even when it's clear they're going to die. He's the only one here that Max might call human. Might.  
  
He learns voices, too, since he often hangs facing the wall. He pays attention only for a complete lack of anything else to do. (It's maddening.) But nobody pays attention to him, save for the Organic Mechanic and the occasional War Boy requesting "the one with the high-octane crazy-blood." To them, he's just another thing to be used.  
  
The voices he never hears are those of the blood bags. None of them speak. They're all too beaten down and broken. Max starts to forget the existence of his own voice. The only time he hears it is when they hurt him. He is trapped in his own head, slowly going mad (madder), with only his ghosts to keep him company. The nightmares keep him from sleeping more often than not.  
  
There are children here, too. Max finds it sickening that they're unfazed by the horrors that go on in this room. Some of them come to help out, some seem to be saying goodbye to their older peers, but they seem largely unbothered by the boys dying around them. Some even seem to come for fun. They play with the blood bags, punch them, toy with them, pull at them. Max tries not to react. They're just children. Children doomed to become monsters, but children nonetheless.  
  
Sometimes he hears drums from somewhere outside, and then War Boys will come rushing through to the adjacent room, emerging with steering wheels as they whoop excitedly. And sometimes, not long after, boys are brought in who are not sick, but injured. The Mechanic patches them up, and gives them blood to replace what they've lost. He gives what's not his to give.  
  
Max almost gives up. He doesn't know how long he's been here, but not once since before they branded him has he gotten a real chance to attempt an escape again. Not with any hope of succeeding. They're careful with him. They know he's a fighter, that he'll do anything to get out. He's always tied, his ankles, his wrists, even on the rare occasions that they cut him down. He can't run. Can't fight. The most he can do is resist when they choose him to give his blood. He braces himself in his cage, refuses to come out as best he can. They can't bleed him if they can't reach him. But after he's made a habit of that, they make a habit of tasing him until he falls.  
  
If he ever believed in hope, he's long since lost it.  
  
The only keys he has to the passage of time are the healing of his injuries and the growth of his hair. He's always healed quickly, but the burn on his neck went deep and lasted a long time. The pain faded slowly enough that he could actually grasp a sense of how long it lasted. Once it scars, however, he loses that timekeeper, but there are always new injuries to be had. The Mechanic calls him a "universal donor," and yells when the War Boys mistreat him, but it doesn't seem to stop them for long.  
  
They cut his hair, too. It grows long, hanging from his scalp and covering his jaw, and eventually they clip it short again. It's one of the few things he can keep track of because it doesn't happen very often.  
  
They knock him out every time. They call him a raging feral. Nobody wants to risk getting too close when he doesn't have a muzzle on. (Which is not unfounded. He's perfectly willing to bite any hand that gets near enough.) They drop him out of his cage, and instead of forcing the muzzle onto his face, they hit him. Sometimes it's one quick merciful strike to the head and he's out. But sometimes they make a game of it, see how long he can last, multiple War Boys taking turns using him as a punching bag. When he awakes, back in his cage, his hair is cropped and his beard is gone. Four times this has happened so far. This, he can remember.  
  


* * *

  
  
It's always men he sees around him. The children, the boys, the mechanic. Sometimes the men aren't painted white, but those ones are never here for blood.  
  
He's hanging, bleeding out (again, again) into an injured boy this time, his eyes closed, when he hears something unusual. A female voice, strong and commanding. It doesn't matter, but he opens his eyes and turns his head for the sheer novelty of the event in his otherwise dull world. She's one of the unpainted ones. Her forehead is black, but her skin is flesh-colored. She's the only one he's seen other than the Mechanic who doesn't have a completely bald head. At first, he doesn't even notice her arm, metal instead of flesh, until she reaches out to the boy he's hooked up to.  
  
He looks down at her as she crouches by the boy, talking to him in a low voice. He has the impression that the unpainted ones, the Imperators he thinks they're called, are fairly high-ranked based on how they act, but even she has a brand on the back of her neck, just like his. They're not so different from each other. She might have status, but they're both slaves.  
  
The old War Boy that Max recognizes stands by her side. "We got him here in time, Boss. A little blood will perk him up."  
  
"Good."  
  
The woman glances up at Max, following the blood tube, and their eyes meet briefly. Her face twists faintly.  
  
He's so rarely acknowledged that her gaze makes him uncomfortable, and he quickly looks away with a quiet grunt.  
  


* * *

  
  
A weakened boy stumbles into the Blood Shed, and Max is selected to be his donor. He had been left alone for several days at that point, so he figures it is his time anyway.  
  
This one knows he's going to die. Max has seen that look before. But the boy isn't ready to go quietly like so many of the others. He awakes from his stupor with a gasp. Nobody but Max is watching as he tears the needle from his arm and struggles to stand up. He doesn't make it very far, and collapses back where he was sitting. Max watches his chest fall still.  
  
And then he watches his own blood pool on the ground by the boy's feet. It dribbles out of the tip of the large needle in pulses and spreads slowly across the floor. Max could call for help. Grab someone's attention to stop him from bleeding out onto the floor. But he's not going to. He closes his eyes and hangs still.  
  
Max's legs are numb and he's starting to feel darkness encroach on his mind by the time he hears an angry yell from the Mechanic. He twitches at the closeness of the voice, and opens his eyes to see the man's grubby hand gripping the dead boy's shoulder, shaking him. "You idiot! Could have lost me a universal donor!" The other hand holds Max's blood tube folded and pinched shut. Max heaves a sigh. Not today.  
  
He feels the Mechanic's hands on him now, fingers pressing into his pulse while the other hand pulls the needle from his neck. Max tries to jerk away, but doesn't have the strength.  
  
"Cut him down."  
  
Supporting hands bring him down to the stone ledge, and as his world turns again, Max's head swirls, and he passes out.  
  
He awakes to the familiar sight of the Blood Shed ceiling, but from a different angle than he's used to seeing it. There's also the odd sight of another blood bag hanging right above him. He doesn't recognize this one. He must be across the room.  
  
He's laying flat out on his back. His arms are still tied uncomfortably beneath him, his ankles are still tied together, and there's the familiar feeling of a needle in his neck. But this time, the blood is flowing into him rather than out of him.  
  
"Make sure he drinks it all," comes the Mechanic's voice, and suddenly there's a War Boy beside Max. Max tries to sit up quickly, but the boy pushes him back down, then grips his jaw beneath the muzzle and pours something from a cup into his mouth. Max sputters and chokes. It's salty. He fights it at first, but after receiving a quick punch to the face from the frustrated War Boy, he quiets down and drinks the water that is poured through his muzzle and into his mouth. He's too dizzy to fight this. It's followed by a second cup, and then he's left in peace. The War Boy doesn't venture far away, however. They all know this raging feral wants escape more than anything. Max tests the bonds on his ankles.  
  
When they disconnect him from the blood bag above him, Max is ready to fight, even if it'll get him nowhere. He headbutts the first War Boy who tries to pull him up, then throws his weight into the second. They both go down hard, Max landing beside the War Boy. He pulls desperately with his legs, trying to break the bonds that hold his ankles tightly together. The War Boy beside him gets up and pins him quickly, while two more close in, landing kicks to his ribs and shoulders.  
  
"Hey!" The Mechanic yells, exasperated. "He's had enough! Just hang him up and leave him be!" They drag him up and over to his familiar cage. An extra loop is added around his ankles, and they hoist him up again.  
  
Folded back into his cage, Max goes back to waiting.  
  


* * *

  
  
"I've got a War Boy runnin' on empty. Hook up that Full Life."  
  
Here we go again. Max has heard those words too many times. He braces himself in his cage, but they've got the taser ready before they even open the cage, and he falls quickly.  
  
Max barely even registers the sound of the war drums. Why should it matter to him? He doesn't notice the War Boy he's hooked up to perking up at the sound. He only wakes from his stupor as other War Boys start rushing through to get their wheels.  
  
"Treason! Betrayal! An Imperator gone rogue!"  
  
Max just listens, an outside observer in an event that he doesn't realize will very soon involve him. There soon comes arguing behind him, and something finally catches his ear.  
  
"We take my blood bag! We take my blood bag and strap him to the lancer's perch."  
  
Max's eyes dart around, his brain trying to work through the fog and sludge. Surely they wouldn't.  
  
"Hitch up his blood bag."  
  
"Right-o."  
  
The Organic is actually letting this happen? Max has a hard time believing it. This boy wants to die, and will probably take Max down with him. But at the same time, it's the closest thing to getting away from this place as he'll probably ever find. He has no idea how this will turn out, but if it's an opportunity to escape, he'll snatch it with everything he has left.  
  
They unhook him from the War Boy, and slowly lower him down to the ledge below him. Max manages to clear his head enough to use reason. _Wait. Don't let the desperation take over. There's too many War Boys around now. Bide your time. Wait for a better chance._ It's one of the hardest things he's ever done, to let a potential opportunity slip by, not knowing if another will come. But he can't mess this up. He can only wait for just the right chance.  
  
Two War Boys haul him by the arms through the tunnels to a large open bay carved into the side of the massive rock tower. There's a lone car sitting there, an old Coupe with its engine exposed and massive exhaust pipes down the sides. They heft him up to a small platform attached to the front, and they cut the bonds around his wrists, three War Boys holding him in place. Max struggles briefly on instinct, then takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he mentally tries to keep himself still. Too many War Boys running around. He wouldn't make it far. With difficulty, he lets them pull his arms behind the cross structure he's pressed up against and shackle his wrists back together. He tests the new bonds. Will he be able to get out of this?  
  
They free his ankles next, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Standing shakily on his own feet for the first time in months is one of the best feelings he can imagine right now.  
  
Then the War Boys leave him, rushing off to go get their own lances and cars ready for battle. Max waits, pulling at the handcuffs slightly, trying to determine how well chained he is.  
  
The Mechanic arrives with a long chain coiled in his hands. Max jerks away as he comes near, and the Mechanic has to call a War Boy to hold him still as he attaches the chain to Max's muzzle and forces a needle back into Max's body. (He doesn't go for his neck anymore. Those veins are long since scarred over and useless.) When the War Boy who started all this mess arrives (wearing Max's jacket, no less - where had he gotten that?) they thread the chain through the door and connect the two of them again. The one with the gruff voice who told the Organic to hitch Max up here leaps onto the back of the car and bangs on the roof excitedly. They rush to join the War Party.  
  


* * *

  
  
The end (or maybe it's just the beginning) of this fiasco of an event finds Max face down in a pile of sand, every bit of him bruised and aching. Desperation takes over after the initial trauma-induced panic fades. This is the chance he's been waiting for. The best chance he'll ever get. But immediate freedom eludes him, and he finds himself carrying the unconscious War Boy (and the car door they're attached to) over to the one source of escape he can find.  
  
The sight he encounters there is not what he was expecting, but he holds his ground. He doesn't want to hurt these people who have done him no harm, he only wants to get away. But the woman he had seen in the Blood Shed has other ideas. Max fights with everything he has. He can't blame her. He'd do the same in her place. The War Boy is delusional, but he helps Max, so he decides not to shoot him after all.  
  
Max escapes. He has a truck now, he can go as far and as fast as he wants. Away from that place of horrors and monsters. But of course, it doesn't last. Nothing ever does. He beats the steering wheel and dashboard in desperation. _Why is it stopping? Why?_ The Warrior Woman approaches, and he sighs. Time to compromise.  
  
But she demands too much. He can't let another person be in control of his life again. Max tries to bluff. He doesn't want to wait for the War Party any more than she does, but it's the only card he holds.  
  
"How grateful do you think he's going to be?" doesn't sway Max. "2000 horsepower of nitro-boosted War Machine" almost gets him. He wants to escape so badly. But it's not until she says "you want that thing off your face?" that Max's resolve breaks. Yes, he does. He really does. He lets them in, begrudgingly, and she hands him the key to take back his own freedom. He snatches it.


End file.
